


Dream you wide awake

by FanFicReader01



Category: Poets of the Fall
Genre: Dreams, Magic, Mindfuck, Surreal, could be marko/olli if you want to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:35:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11458992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFicReader01/pseuds/FanFicReader01
Summary: Where pure madness and art collide, something magical is created.





	Dream you wide awake

_Make something, Marko. Please, make something! Even if it’s just a sketch!_

‘I know! I know! God, I know!’, I shout frustrated to myself.

There is no one else around in my atelier. I’m always alone here. An artist needs his privacy and personal space. Too bad I need a humongous personal space.

No one except my manager has been here but he only goes so far that is my “welcoming hall”.

I wonder if it’s this loneliness of mine that’s nagging at me and my creative mind.

I’ve always talked to myself because there is no one else to talk to. I’ve been fine with that until recently. I could ask my manager but he would ruin the “atmosphere” in this atelier.

It may sound harsh but it’s the truth. Well, at least it is for me.

  Besides when we talk, he does the talking and I do the listening. He talks too much. He complains too much. I can’t have that kind of energy in my workspace.

 And so I am all alone in my atelier.

 

I plan, sketch, sculpt and create but still. It’s not satisfying. I get by with it though: I get money to live another day.

 

This dissatisfaction, the restlessness starts to drive me crazy. I don’t know what to create. I’ve been making tons of sculptures and even more sketches but nothing that pleases me.

Oh well, it satisfies the customers and fellow artists alike but it doesn’t _touch me_. I’m starting to feel desperate and afraid. Afraid that I might be losing the “magic feel” I once had.

 

So I start to create even more and sleep less. I _have to_ create my next masterpiece. There’s no other way.

In the madness of creation I hear myself talk.

 

‘You need to create a magnus opus, Marko!’

 

‘What’s greater than life itself?’

 

‘Then I will create just that! The perfect human being!’

 

‘Isn’t that a bit too ambitious, Marko?’

 

‘No, you idiot. You suggested it yourself! No, this is great! Let me prove it to you and the world!’

 

First: the words and the right material.

 

_Eyes of water_

_Lips made of air_

_Fingertips as hot as fire_

_And a heart, deeply nested into the earth_

The task seems impossible but magically I manage. In front of me I have the perfect sculpture.

Its eyes are glossy from the water. The lips look feather soft, thin as air. I can almost feel the heat coming from its fingers. I made its heart out of the earth and grass from the small garden. It looks hauntingly beautiful.

But again, I feel something is missing.

 

‘You know life has a _beating_ heart, a soul, right?’

 

‘Then I’ll give it just that! I’ll literally put my heart and soul into it!’

 

‘You’re a madman, Marko!’

 

‘I know. All artists are mad people. We find comfort in our art while it drives others mad.’

 

After some more sculpting and fleshing out the statue, I collapse. I’m surprised my fingers haven’t fallen of yet.

They’re burning like my sculpture’s fingers. My heart is beating so fast now. Then I fall asleep.

 

\--

 

I wake up from a feverish dream. Sweat has formed on my face like a mask.

There’s no doubt where I am: my atelier. I crawl back up on my wobbly legs. What was I doing anyway?

 

 _You were making a masterpiece, Marko_.

 

‘Well, thank you, voice in my head!’, I smile. Just when I’m about to make some sketches, the bell rings. I decide to ignore it like always. It probably won’t take long before I hear my manager shout at me to open the darn door.

 The bell keeps ringing.

I can’t longer ignore it. Reluctantly I step out of my comfort zone and go the welcome hall.

 

There’s a young man greeting me. I do not know him and yet he feels _very_ familiar.

His eyes are a strange blue. It’s almost like the surface of a tumultuous ocean. His lips are pale and look so soft I’m afraid they would break if I’d kiss them.

His blond locks of hair hang around his lovely face like they’re individual little rays of sunshine.

 Then he holds out his hand to greet me.

‘Oh, eh… Hey?’, I hesitate before shaking the stranger’s hand. The shake is firm and it feels like I get burnt in a surprisingly sweet way.

 The handsome stranger is wearing a white shirt. Underneath it I can see his chest rise and fall with every steady beat of his heart. It almost sounds like the beat of mother nature herself.

 ‘So, who are you?’, I want to know.

‘Me? I am your masterpiece’, the man smiles.


End file.
